


Love, Mom

by Theyumenoinu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Captivity, Dark, Dean Winchester Whump, Disabled Character, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Manhandling, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Bondage, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner Dean, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Psychopath Mary Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Starvation, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Trans Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28258413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyumenoinu/pseuds/Theyumenoinu
Summary: Once inside, he’s keenly aware, there’ll be slim to no chance of running away. Mary is thorough, calculating, and clever. Honing her craft over time until she perfected it. Leaving no room to be careless, not now that she’s gained him back.He managed to escape once, and she’ll make damn sure there won’t be a second time.Abandon hope all ye who enter here.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Dean survived his mother for decades.He has to learn to survive again.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	Love, Mom

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its charaters. 
> 
> A/N: Please look over the tags before reading. Although not expected, I appreciate any and all comments, kudos, and bookmarks. 
> 
> Updates: Sporadically

**Love, Mom**

* * *

**Chapter One**

It’s meant to be simple.

Meet up in public, maintain distance while retrieving his personal items, then leave.

 _Easy_.

Dean stands frozen, staring mutely down at Cas’ unmoving body. Observing the vicious red consuming the material over his chest inch by devastating inch. The only color Dean’s aware of as the world fades into varying shades of grey. A sharp ringing drowning out noise, save for the pounding of his pulse and his shallow, raspy respires.

“Cas,” he whispers, brokenly. His voice seemingly detached from his own body, foreign to his own ears.

Yet, there comes no response, except motion he catches in his peripherals—a dark mass lingering with a silent promise for further harm. Muffled words he isn’t able to distinguish feathering into his ear from some far off distance.

That is, until the mass shifts, aiming once more for the lifeless form on the ground.

“Don’t,” Dean blurts as the fragments of his disjointed reality snap sharply into place. Colors exploding, the rush of cars on the freeway deafening, and the keen awareness of the person beside him sending chills along his spine. “Please, don’t.”

“Get in the trunk, Deanna.”

He can’t help it. After decades of battling to survive on his own, he’s been conditioned to respond without a second thought to potential consequences. “That isn’t my name anymore.”

A finger twitches on the trigger.

“Okay, okay.” Dean raises his hands in surrender. “I’m going.”

Cautiously, he steps around Cas. Searching desperately for signs of life, but finding nothing. Cas’ eyes remaining shut, his skin blanched, and hand left outstretched as though reaching for Dean.

He should’ve listened to his gut instinct upon seeing the empty parking lot. Should’ve hightailed it out of there with no witnesses present.

Dean halts before the opened trunk of the car, not daring to obey just yet.

“I said get in.”

“I will. I promise,” Dean assures, swallowing thickly as dread prickles up his spine. “But would you call an ambulance for him? I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t leave him here like this.” And for good measure, he adds, “Please…Mom.”

There’s a pause of consideration, and Dean barely dares to hope he’ll be granted this one request.

“If you do exactly what I tell you, I’ll call for one.”

 _Could be a lie_ , Dean thinks, given the numerous times she’s lied. However, he’s willing to risk it if it means a chance to save Cas’ life.

“Give me your backside once you lie down,” she commands as he clambers into the cramped space of the Focus; curling into a semi-fetal position to fit uncomfortably, facing the interior wall. He inwardly curses himself when he flinches at cold hands collecting his wrists behind him, followed by the confinement of several zip ties pulling tight and a pair of metal handcuffs.

Clenching his jaw, he quashes the urge to fight as she repeats the process with his ankles, effectively condemning him to his fate. His skin crawling as she gives him an approving pat on his thigh.

“Now, turn your head and take these.”

 _Shit,_ Dean thinks as he spies the pills, understanding her intention of restraining him first to prevent an opportunity to hide them on his person.

Swallowing thickly, he ventures, “What are they?”

Mary’s face instantly becomes stony. Her eyes as sharp as the warning on her tongue, “Take them or I don’t call.”

Without hesitation, Dean opens his mouth. Attempting not to panic as she slips the medicine between his lips. Watching him intently until he’s swallowed them dry.

“Your tongue,” she says, not trusting.

Once she’s seen they’re nowhere to be found, she digs into a grocery bag near his leg and collects a bottle he immediately recognizes. His heart rate spiking at the mixture of drugs and the results Mary’s aiming for.

“Isn’t Nyquil a little overboard?” Dean tries, desperately hoping she’ll leave it at that. “I took the pills.”

No such luck. She presses the measuring cup to his lips in silent demand. With a sigh of resignation, Dean grudgingly drinks it, then coughs out, “Get an ambulance out here.” When she doesn’t move but stares down at him dispassionately, he adds, “You got what you wanted. I kept my end of the deal!”

Mary releases a long-suffering sigh as she once more digs inside the bag, producing a handkerchief. And Dean isn’t dumb enough to argue when she fits him with the gag. Grunting softly at the discomfort as she secures it.

Apparently satisfied, Mary walks from his line of sight towards Cas’ general direction. Dean’s breaths becoming shallow and fast as his mind fills with possible scenarios.

 _No!_ Dean thumps his head against the hard flooring beneath. _Goddammit, she’s going to kill him! And I’m a damn idiot!_

The crunch of gravel underfoot alerts him to her return. Some tension leaving him at the lack of gunshot and her intention clutched in her gloved hand. Mary waves Cas’ cellphone before dialing the emergency number. Placing the call on speaker for his benefit and, more than likely, his torment—given his inability to cry out for help.

Once given the dispatcher an alias, Mary terminates the call, then carelessly chucks the cellphone towards its owner. Dean barely catching the sound of it skittering across asphalt seconds before the lid of the trunks slams shut, plunging him into darkness.

~*~

He squirms in his bindings until the pull of the drugs tug him downward. Sapping him of energy until his eyes slide shut of their own volition. Consciousness a fleeting affair as he groggily wakes for several, precious minutes before unwillingly slipping back into slumber.

Finally, he stirs at the click of the trunk’s latch, and gasps at the onslaught of icy air as it lifts open. A violent shiver raking over him as a shadowy figure in contrast to the starry sky leans inside. Gripping one leg firmly as the other hand roughly works to free his ankles from their bindings. And then, to his dismay, are they retied loosely with what he presumes is some kind of cord.

 _Enough to walk, but not run,_ he comprehends dimly.

After swinging his legs over the edge, Mary reaches forward to grasp his arms. And Dean resolutely doesn’t aid her as she hoists him up by the torso. Allowing her to strain under his dead weight to maneuver him while he battles a wave of nausea burning at the back of his throat. The world seeming to slant off to one side and rotate beneath him the moment he’s fully upright.

“Walk, Deanna,” she says, somewhat winded, and Dean mentally scores a tally for himself. “Get up on your feet. I’m not carrying you.”

Mary yanks him forward with clear expectation of him to do as she desires. But Dean’s never been one to give in to whims and demands so easily—not as a child and, certainly, not now. His legs go slack, crumpling to the ground. The action forcing her to make a split decision; to which, she releases him and permits his fall. Leaving Dean to wonder if this counts as another win when his right side slams down onto frozen, rugged earth.

He groans as the stars above viciously wobble and his arm throbs intensely, alerting him to a fresh injury. Although, he suspects nothing is broken.

“I’m not playing this game with you,” comes Mary’s predictable scolding. “If you’re going to act like a child, then I’ll treat you like one.”

Collecting his feet under her arm, she commences dragging him across the ground. Frozen mud mercilessly scraping the skin of his hands and arms, while rocks and rogue twigs jab and dig mercilessly wherever they make contact. He bites down on the gag against the pain, his stomach turning in protest of the motion.

He will not beg.

 _Won’t give her the satisfaction_ , he thinks stubbornly. Even as his shirt rucks up and his bare backside scrapes across an icy patch of snow. Grunting out his agony as quietly as possible.

The stars are eventually blocked by a building, shrouded by night. An ominous sign for the darkness ahead, if he ever saw one.

Once inside, he’s keenly aware, there’ll be slim to no chance of running away. Mary is thorough, calculating, and clever. Honing her craft over time until she perfected it. Leaving no room to be careless, not now that she’s gained him back.

He managed to escape once, and she’ll make damn sure there won’t be a second time.

_Abandon hope all ye who enter here._

Dean struggles. Bending his knees, he attempts to kick outward and roll onto his stomach; desperately desiring to dislodge her hold. However, it proves futile when she twists with him and pivots on her heel enough to secure his legs with her free arm. Their awkward angles hardly hindering her as Mary tows him through the now open door. Having little regard for the metal sill on the floor which rips into Dean’s elbow, drawing a muffled shout from him.

“You brought this on yourself,” Mary spits in response, now pulling him with scarcely any effort across slick linoleum flooring. “When you **_cut me out of your life_**.”

The possession and the implication of future punishment sends a chill racing down Dean’s spine. Still fighting futilely as she lugs him through another door and yanks him without care down a single, concrete step. Dean’s vision exploding white as the back of his head cracks against the edge.

Mary seems to seize the opportunity, hauling him up onto a rock hard mattress. Working hastily to affix bed restraints to his ankles and disregards his groan of agony when she shifts his battered body to release his wrists. Trapping one arm beneath his body to keep him within her control while maneuvering the other out to slip it into its respective strap.

As she secures it, Dean takes advantage and wrestles his trapped arm free. Blindly swinging it to snare coarse locks of her hair in his fist. Pleased by the surprised intake of breath from her before he collides their foreheads together.

The pain of it sears through his skull, rendering him helpless for several crucial seconds. Her curses echoing around him as he breaks through the headache and fumbles frantically for the restraint. Nearly removing the strap tip from the metal prong when a hand seizes his wrist, fingernails digging into his flesh until a muffled cry escapes him and his own fingers relinquish their grip.

“ _You don’t hit your mother_ ,” Mary snarls, weight on his chest pinning him as she stretches to fasten the last with bruising force; causing Dean to jerk violently and bite down on his gag to bear it.

Over the roar of his pulse, Dean attunes to the click of boot heels as Mary abandons his side. Keenly tracking her through the room as he takes stock of his own condition. His wrists and ankles burning from the raw abuse, while his arms and backside throb and ache from the prior onslaught. The air in the room equally bitter cold and drawing attention to the warmth at his elbow; the material of the bed dampening below it.

Dean tenses when the footsteps approach the bedside, and jolts when something soft and lightweight partially settles over him. Belatedly recognizing it as a thin blanket while Mary wordlessly retreats. The squeal of a door inordinately loud before it shuts with a sense of finality. Leaving Dean with nothing but the company of pain, the senseless night, and the gut-wrenching memory of Cas’ lifeless features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have anxiety over potential character deaths, I promise Cas isn't dead.


End file.
